I shut the metal stall door, and surveyed the nasty Texaco crapper. I knew if I hadn't been so overindulgent with my boozing of earlier, I'd not been forced to stop and pay this lovely place a visit. But it would also serve as a haven for a quick fix of the wrist-jerk variety, so I didn't mind as much as I led on. I just liked to bitch, even if only to my own self. If I wasn't the vain, or masochistic—or both—bastard that I was, I'd have made due with taking care of business by pulling over and pissing out the passenger door. But hey, I sure as shit wanted that Prince Albert, didn't I? No complaint from me or anyone else for that matter. It was worth it, although I hadn't known prior to achieving my latest rite-of-passage to bad assedness, that I'd need to sit down to piss for the rest of my life either. But it almost became a novelty, and only made me resentful when I was quite inconvenienced.
There were a few sheets of toilet paper left on the roll. This was poor offerings to save my ass from whatever diseases that multiplied on the plastic seat, but luckily, I wasn't so much concerned with trivialities now. The booze I'd guzzled a half hour before at the small dirty bar had gone right through me. I would've been using their head right now, had I not become belligerent and threatening to an obviously defenseless little mutt. The alcohol would not let me yield to my urge of commenting lewdly to him of a certain member's growing excitement with the look of his fat lips gripping the lip of the beer bottle as he tipped it upwards. In my drunken state, it honestly did seem as though he was cruisin' for a cock to suck. Shit, the way he sucked that bottle made me imagine what he'd do to my schlong.
The bartender was not amused with my enthusiastic remarks that were undoubtedly heard throughout the small hole-in-the-wall bar, and he escorted me, somewhat roughly, as he felt a need to promote his position of authority, to the door. "And stay out, you faggot", he shouted, making sure no one present missed that.
"This really blows," I said to myself as the booze went to my head and sat heavy in the pit of my stomach and bladder, all at once. My belly was grumbling uncomfortably, and I knew I had to find a bathroom. I stepped to the curb and tried to remember where I'd left that goddamn car. I remembered, and it was a blur between that moment and this moment now as I prepared and sat down, again noting the filth, the green buggers, shit streaks, and dirty limericks. Although they appeared hazy at best, I easily made out one note left in the stall for other's reading enjoyment. I saw letters scrawled on the door: 4 bloody good time, MEAT Joe here @ 11pm. I grinned at that, finding it funny. I had just gotten comfortable, letting the piss drain from my bladder as I'd read the obscenities finger-painted on the stall with, well with who knows what. My cock finished dripping and I'd just taken it into my fist to begin a quick stroke when I heard the sound of someone entering as the bathroom door slammed open.
Reading '11pm', I glanced at my wristwatch, squinting hard, and saw that it was indeed that time. Footsteps on the small concrete floor came near and I looked down, and saw a pair of dangerous looking black jungle boots right under the door. I was sure whom ever was attached to those big boots was quite as dangerous looking, if not downright dangerous. I held still and kept quiet, thinking maybe he'd walk away and leave me unnoticed, to go about my business. No such luck. He made it clear that he knew I was there. He cleared his throat, and hocked a thick sounding loogie onto the floor. I heard it hit with a loud 'splat' before he said, "When was the last time this place saw a mop and a bucket?"
Was he talking to me? Should I reply? Shit, I wasn't sure at all. Meekly I said, "Uh, s'at you, Joe?" Immediately I felt so stupid. Of course it wasn't. How dumb can I get? But the voice came back and said, "Yeah, you waitin' on me, faggot?"
I laughed nervously, feeling the uneasiness begin to sober me up, fast. I thought that all I could do at this point, was to play it cool. Hey, maybe he was really hot and not scary... and it was just the boots. I spoke again, saying, "Well, it's probably just dumb luck and great timing. But I'm here... you're here..." I let my words trail off before I said something stupid. I waited for his response.
.... There is more of this story ...